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From drifts of snow, and loathe to melt, thin sheets
of crystal cling on still to stony rill, where soft beneath the surface scars, first seeds await, sweet anxious little daffodils; and through the Autumn, into dark, one leaf that never left her life above thick mast prefers to friend the buds before relief. Just so, I know you are the strong, the last, the final anchor for my flitting soul. You cherish me, though flown in fantasy, and clinging make me worth my weight in gold as I begin to let find love from thee. Where I would shrink, you cannot stop the shine, Where falter, float, you grip with faith divine.
(Five talents added to five; Light receiving more light)
I wonder if the scrub-oak needed reasons to exist
or should it come to hate its ordered size would countless roots dig in with clenching fist or would it envy harriers that fly? I wonder if all folks when in anxiety persist do rip themselves from womb of Mother Earth or are they simply trying to resist the haunting thought of chaos in their birth? Or maybe we are letting go in Trust for one exalted glimpse at higher thrones and leaving clay cathedrals to the dust for temples set apart from unhewn stone The Heav'ns cannot afford more than a glance and thus, more wise, we simply take the chance. Day by day the globe is drenched in Sun,
Submitting so to strong celestial pulls The yielding vegetation's bloom's begun, Light nourishment impregnates Earth in full. And, though the rays and heat make lightning flash, And wildfires ravage as they roam The kind Creator knows that rain and ash Provide for plants and people richer loam. So why would man think he is greater, then, Than fields and fruits, which ceding, give him strength? Refusing to allow God’s sunshine in, The vigor in his soul will wilt at length. Ensuring of this heaven-sanctioned growth By consecration comes, by sacred oath. An Aspen grove knows not of loneliness:
Entwined regard allows each bud to thrive. One rhythm in a mountain-breeze caress, In every season braided, trees survive. And when that skittish summer Wind detects The Westerlies' acidic, coming reign With fearful Warmth he makes his swift descent, Supplanting green with biting white domains. Each solitary leaf in pallor sways, But falling just enriches common roots Thus Winter's stinging edicts can't erase Their proverb which provides for future fruits: Rejected we die sadly on our own- A soul should never have to be alone. A hundred haloed snowflakes in a breeze
Like hosts of gentle ghosts from blossoms shed What should have been the soft-lit pink in each Is pallid crystal, cold and listless, dead. Do not show me Spring, erratic mind, Cease to chase these effigies of May The petty consolations there you find Are empty apparitions long decayed. Awake from frenzy, put away the fear Break the daydream's paralyzing trance Work the furrows, cultivate with tears The seedlings of more supple, native plants. The only vision palpable, secure Will come when bleakest winters you endure. When Heaven’s rains tear through the stubborn clouds
And frozen hearts are damped and cracked by faith When tearful longing rips the doubtful shroud Which bury men in secret silks of hate When Winter’s icy touch confronts the flame And passions flow back into tender skin All people’s wakened senses feel the same And let all holy flesh become our kin. Please give me, then, a heart like Thine, oh God! Let Jesus’ earnest tears offenses thaw Send glints of light to rend this thick façade And free me by the statutes of Thy law. For though I cannot don the Holy Crown, His piercing love will wash all cold to drown. |